


instances

by zealousrebelmaker



Category: Evillious Chronicles
Genre: Angst, Blood, Character Study, F/M, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Violence, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-05 03:48:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4164567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zealousrebelmaker/pseuds/zealousrebelmaker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Let me help you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	instances

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what to say about this, really. It's every degree of rushed.

She's every level of creepy, uncomfortable and strange when they first met.

He remembers the day when she appeared to him in the most unlikely of times, amidst corpses of his family members and unknowing servants, having been unlucky for being in the same family and in the same house. She offered him the sole way to get what he has now, and with a brand new girl in his bed to keep it warm, he stays awake at night and thinks, and remembers.

I.R. never tells him her name, or where she came from, or how she knew about him. When he asked, she shrugged.

"Well, accept it as fate," she said.

Oh well.

Venomania likes mysteries anyways.

 

On February, it isn't his dearest Gumina who stays by his bedside when he ate the delights of the 14th day.

Venomania groans as strands of purple hair lifelessly remain on his face, obstructing his vision just because. I.R. laughs as she wrings a wet towel with dexterous, slender hands, and she puts it on his feverish forehead. 

"That's what you get for being so greedy," she teases.

"What do I have?" he weakly asks.

"Food poisoning," she replies happily, too happily.

"From _what?!_ "

I.R. wipes his forehead and smoothes out his hair. "Paint."

 

She reads to him and he doesn't understand half the words that she says.

People expects witches to be old grandmothers with warts and horrible grating voices, but she says those complicated words as if she weaves them with ease. Knowledge is her temple, words are the building blocks. It's one of these nights where his girls are spent, and he is too, so he lets himself hear I.R. read.

Venomania asks her, "Have you ever read to anyone else?"

She stops and tosses aside a plaited ponytail, her cloak protecting her from the cold. "I've read brochures to the illiterate."

"I mean, have you ever read stories to anyone else?" he sighs, wishing that she wasn't so general.

He finds himself smiling when she says no.

 

She's bossy, she's insensitive, she's unkind and she's cruel.

He wonders if she's really a cat, or a woman once, because he just can't take her word for anything at all. She's either telling the truth or feeding him lies that sound so awfully like the truth, and he, like the fool he is, laps her words up because they just sound so damn convincing.

But he catches her one time when Lukana tells her about how she and Lilien are such great friends, and I.R. stares at their hair colors, and she tears bits of a handkerchief from below the table as they merrily talk about each other while her face is as pinched as a lemon.

When they leave, I.R. throws the remnants of the cloth to the floor and laughs maniacally to herself.

He realizes that he sounded like that once upon a time.

 

 

He pulls on her snow-white hair, and she pulls on his purple locks.

Their first session together is rough, almost devoid of love and pleasure. He rams into her, and she hisses in either pain or pleasure- no one knows. Blood is drawn- his nails are sharp, and so are hers. 

There is no love here.

Even if I.R. embraces him in a bloody embrace that should symbolically mean something, anything, Venomania tries to find what she means in it all. He's killed a woman and they're fucking in the blood, and it should mean something, but the witch gasps, almost yells, at him to go faster and harder.

It's not healthy for his mind.

It's healthy for hers.

It shouldn't be that way.

Venomania buries his face into her neck and embraces her once it's done, and she clings to him, breathing as evenly as she can. He remembers having invited her jokingly to share with his sessions with his new brides, but they are alone now, mixed with fluids and blood and whatever else their naked bodies are covered in.

He wants to save her. He feels like she's fallen more than he did.

"I..." Venomania begins, but she won't let him finish. I.R. kisses him, hard, and that's the end of that, because she doesn't want to hear anything else.

 

"Let me help you," Venomania says once, and she looks at him, and laughs.

 

She remembers his last words to her when he lay dying.

He bled himself to death, she remembers. She didn't know how to feel when he was dying, when everyone else left him to die, even his lovely, beloved Gumina. She stayed on because it just felt right, and she placed a palm on his bleeding chest and she whispered to him the same words that he told her once.

 

"Let me help you," she said once.

"Says the person who needs it the most," he replied.

 

I.R. closes her eyes.

 

That's how it ended, she guessed.

 

He couldn't help her even if he tried his hardest.

 

 


End file.
